


A Rude Awakening

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Break Up, F/F, Femslash, Fights, Genderbending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1308427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching Enjolras get herself injured at a protest is the last straw for Grantaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rude Awakening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neelh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neelh/gifts).



> The prompt was for genderbent E/R with angst, and I tried to deliver!
> 
> Usual disclaimer with the added caveat that Grantaire's views on feminism are the character's alone and do not necessarily reflect my own views.

“Time to wake up.”

Grantaire groaned and would have turned to bury her face in the pillow were it not for the weight of her girlfriend straddling her thighs. She settled for muttering, “Go away, you fiend.”

Enjolras laughed lightly and leaned over to kiss Grantaire, her hair brushing Grantaire’s cheek, and Grantaire scrunched her nose at the feeling. It must be a protest day — Enjolras normally wore her long, curly blonde hair up in a ponytail or bun to not have to deal with it, but on days of protests she wore it down like a golden halo. It was one of the first things Grantaire had noticed about her, sitting out on the quad at school, watching Enjolras lead a women’s rights protest, her golden hair swirling like a lion’s mane.

Still, protest days meant that Grantaire had to actually get up, try and tame her own dark curls, and be supportive from the sidelines, even if she’d rather just spend the day in Enjolras’s bed, preferably with Enjolras, though that could be negotiated, pretending that she wasn’t hungover.

Since that was not to be, she blinked blearily up at Enjolras and leaned up to kiss the tip of Enjolras’s nose. “I hate you,” she sighed, latching her arms around Enjolras’s neck and pulling her down into a proper kiss.

Enjolras let Grantaire kiss her for a few moments, then pulled away, sitting up and rearranging her shirt. “You’re going to make me late,” she scolded, though there was no real heat in her voice.

She stood and smoothed the front of her shirt, and Grantaire sat up in bed and sighed as she watched her, struck as always by how beautiful Enjolras was, tiny and pale where Grantaire was large and dark. Everything about Enjolras, from her porcelain skin to her almost dainty features to her wide blue eyes screamed classical beauty; everything about Grantaire, from her frizzy dark curls to her too-wide hips and too-big thighs to her mismatched facial features said conventionally unattractive.

As if sensing Grantaire’s train of thought, Enjolras scowled and nudged her foot under the blanket. “Is that negativity I’m sensing?” she asked mildly.

Grantaire forced a smile onto her face. “Negative? Me? Perish the thought.” She stood and brushed another kiss against Enjolras’s cheek before heading to put real clothes on and attempt to tame her hair.

By the time Grantaire was ready to face the day, Enjolras was pacing in front of the door, and when she frowned at Grantaire, it was genuine. “Late,” she said, shortly, pulling the door to the apartment open and glaring at Grantaire.

“Full sentences are obviously the first thing to go in a relationship,” Grantaire said blithely, filling a travel mug with coffee and strutting past Enjolras into the hallway.

Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “I knew letting you sleep over last night was a bad idea,” she groused. “This protest is  _important_.”

Grantaire almost laughed but took pity on her girlfriend instead, lacing their fingers together and pulling her forward. “Come on, you know Combeferre has everything under control. You’re barely going to be five minutes late, if even.” She kissed Enjolras, smiling when Enjolras sighed and relaxed against her. “Now come on, let’s go crush the patriarchy.”

Walking together with the sun shining, holding Enjolras’s hand, coffee in her other hand, Grantaire felt like the day couldn’t possibly be more perfect.

She couldn’t possibly have been more wrong.

* * *

 

All hell broke loose the moment Enjolras hopped off the makeshift stage. Counter-protesters (mostly brothers from some of the sleazier fraternities, with a good amount of other fine specimens of men) crashed the protest and things turned violent. As soon as she saw it happening, Grantaire pushed through the crowd to get to Enjolras’s side, and arrived just in time to see Enjolras’s arm twisted behind her by some massive dude.

Grantaire saw red, and her boxing training kicked in, nailing the guy in the face and yanking Enjolras away. Before she could get Enjolras fully away, though, Enjolras grinned, kissed her on the cheek, and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving Grantaire staring after her, chest heaving.

She couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe Enjolras. After nearly getting her arm yanked out by some dude, Enjolras would just head straight back into the violence because of  _course_  she would.

If she didn’t get killed, Grantaire was going to kill her.

Grantaire also wasn’t going to wait around to see what happened. Not again. She had been to too many of these protests, seen Enjolras get hurt too many times. Normally it was something small — hair pulled, jostled around a bit — but the worst times had landed Enjolras in the hospital, and there were only so many times Grantaire could be witness to that before she was liable to do something very,  _very_  stupid.

Of course, waiting in Enjolras’s apartment and imagining all the terrible ways she could be injured or worse wasn’t doing much to stop Grantaire from doing something stupid. Like practically pouncing on Enjolras as soon as she walked through the door. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Grantaire demanded, hands on her hips.

Enjolras was grinning wildly, though she looked mostly unscathed, saved for her shoulder, which she was holding with her free hand and which was most likely dislocated. “What are you talking about?”

“I just watched your shoulder get wrenched out of its socket by a 200 pound man, and then watched you go right back in for seconds!”

Enjolras’s grin widened. “It’s fine, Combeferre will fix it.”

Grantaire made a growling noise deep in her throat as she steered Enjolras into the kitchen to get some ice for her shoulder. “Fuck Combeferre”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at her. “I’d really rather not.”

“You know what I mean!” Grantaire practically slapped the bag of frozen peas on Enjolras’s shoulder. “Do you have any idea what I went through watching you today?”

Sighing, Enjolras shrugged and winced when her shoulder twinged. “Look, it was just a protest. We’ve been through a million of them. What’s wrong with you today?”

Grantaire sighed as well, sinking into the seat across from Enjolras, her brow furrowed. “Maybe that’s just it. Maybe we’ve been through one too many protests. Maybe I’m worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” Enjolras repeated incredulously. “Why in the world would you be worried about me?”

Grantaire stared at her. “I don’t know, because of the fact that you weigh next to nothing and I’m worried about you getting seriously injured one of these times? It may just be a dislocated shoulder today, but in the future…how many more times do I have to find you at the hospital, or in jail?”

Enjolras’s lip curled. “So what, you’re worried about me because I’m a girl? Because I’m not strong enough to take care of myself?”

“Now is not the time for ‘I am woman, hear me roar’,” Grantaire said impatiently. “Now is the time for realizing that you got your shoulder dislocated by a man twice your size!”

“There will always  _be_  men twice my size! But the point of feminism—”

Grantaire slammed her hands down on the table. “For fuck’s sake, can we just have  _one_  argument that doesn’t involve feminism? One argument where I’m allowed to be worried for you, the woman that I love?”

Enjolras hesitated, and for a second Grantaire thought she might give in. But then she shook her head. “No. We can’t. And you knew that when we got together, you knew what I was like. You knew what to expect.”

“Yeah. I did.” Grantaire swallowed hard and sat back in her chair, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and avoiding Enjolras’s gaze. “And I guess I just can’t do it anymore.”

Staring up at her, Enjolras’s voice was quiet when she asked, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m done, Enj. I can’t sit back and watch as you keep putting yourself into these situations—” Grantaire could see the words ‘victim-blaming’ on Enjolras’s lips “—into these situations where if it was anyone else, any one of our friends, you would drop everything, fight tooth and nail to protect them, get them out safely, but the moment, the  _moment_  I want to do the same for you, I’m acting on internalized misogyny or whatever bullshit you’re spouting today.”

Enjolras’s grip on the table tightened and her eyes flashed dangerously. “It’s not bullshit,” she started hotly, but Grantaire cut her off.

“It  _is_  bullshit! The fact that I’m not allowed to be concerned for you, that I’m not allowed to ask you to think of yourself first…” Enjolras was shaking her head, but Grantaire barreled onward. “If you were raped, I would ask you to carry pepper spray to protect yourself. If you were being harassed, I would ask you not to walk alone. And before you say anything, I know just as well as you that the behavior needs to change at the source but I also know that changing systemic attitudes takes a hell of a lot longer than you think. So in the meantime, I would ask you to do what you could to protect yourself, if only for my sake because I could not bear the thought of losing you. And that includes not being reckless at protests!”

Shaking her head, Enjolras said incredulously, “You mean you would ask me to do what I could to ensure another girl is raped or attacked.”

Grantaire let out a strangled noise, her hands clenching into fists. “Did you listen to a single word that I just said?” she demanded, eyes flashing. “Or do you just not care about what I have to say? Do my feelings really matter so little to you in the grand scheme of things?”

Enjolras rolled her eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Grantaire, this isn’t about your _feelings_! It’s about doing what I can for the cause, and not allowing myself to be a victim of the system, or worse, allowing myself to perpetuate the system! If you really loved me then you would understand that!”

Grantaire stared at her for a long moment, feeling tears start to prick in her eyes. She felt like Enjolras had just stabbed her in the heart with a knife. “Then I guess I don’t really love you,” she said hollowly, slowly standing up from the table and heading towards the door. All she wanted was to get away from this, get away from Enjolras and having to deal with this because she honestly didn’t know if she could handle her entire world collapsing like this.

Enjolras stood as well, her expression hardening. “Are you really going to walk away?” she snapped. “Now, in the middle of a conversation?”

“This is not a conversation!” Grantaire retorted, her hands shaking with anger and sadness and an infinite amount of regret that any of this had happened. “This is an argument and from where I’m standing, I lost. Like I always do.”

“And now you’re going to run, like you always do when things get hard,” Enjolras spat. “And probably go drink yourself into a stupor. Just like always.”

Grantaire rounded on her, eyes flashing dangerously. “So what if I am? Why would you even care?” she shouted. “It’s not like you ever loved me anyway!”

The silence following that statement was overwhelming as they both just looked at each other. Something in Enjolras’s face softened, and she started, “Grantaire—”, but Grantaire just shook her head, crossing her arms tightly in front of her chest as if trying to hold herself together.

“At least, you never loved me as much as you love your precious cause.”

Enjolras recoiled at those words, and her jaw clenched. “Get out of my apartment,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “We’re done.”

“Fine,” Grantaire said, turning around without another word.

“Fine!” Enjolras shouted, slamming the door after her.

Grantaire practically ran smack into Combeferre as she fled Enjolras’s apartment, blinking back tears. “Oh. Combeferre. Enjolras is…she’s inside. She has a dislocated shoulder, I think, so you need to take care of that.” Grantaire’s voice was quiet, almost clinical, and she didn’t meet Combeferre’s eyes.

Combeferre frowned at her. “Don’t you want to stay, make sure she’s alright?”

“No. I don’t.” Grantaire bit back a sob and looked down at the ground. “We broke up.”

“Do you want me to talk to her?” Combeferre’s voice was soft, almost gentle, which made it all the worse, and Grantaire shook her head quickly, angrily brushing away the tears with the heel of her palm.

“No. I…honestly I don’t think it will help right now. I don’t know if anything will help.” She gave Combeferre a watery smile and said, “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

She wasn’t. And at this rate, she probably wasn’t going to be. But there was a bottle of cheap whiskey in her apartment calling her name, and if she drank enough of it, she might just forget that Enjolras never really loved her anyway.


End file.
